


Praise, brothers, your path

by Suzume



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Community: fma_fuh_q, Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-01
Updated: 2010-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:49:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzume/pseuds/Suzume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armstrong thinks he's found a like-mind on the battlefields of Ishval.  He's wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Praise, brothers, your path

Major Alex Louis Armstrong was unaccustomed to being a solitary man- a man apart, perhaps, but never a man alone. For that reason, and because he was a gentle, friendly man, he sought out the company of those of like mind almost immediately after his deployment to Ishval.

"Excuse me, Major Mustang."

Roy turned around and quickly met the sensitive blue eyes of Major Armstrong with a smile, albeit a weak and tentative one. Even if Armstrong hadn't spoken a word, Roy would've known him from the height of the hand on his shoulder. Ishval wasn't a place for pleasantries. The only humor one found here was twisted and black. But Armstrong brought out the best of feelings in those around him. He was just so sweet and optimistic. "Hello Armstrong. What's on your mind?"

"I wanted to ask you about our colleague Kimblee. I heard from Cooper that he's something of a gentleman. Do you know anything about him? Could you introduce us?"

"Oh, Kimblee? Red Lotus. That's right. Sorry. We haven't spoken much yet, but it's true that he has a certain _unique_ air about him. He's very polite." Roy wasn't sure that unusual aspect of Major Kimblee was something positive, but at this point, how could he judge? Both men looked across the large tent serving as an impromptu mess hall. Kimblee was visible at the far end of the room. By the amount of space visible around him, it was distinctly clear that he was alone. He appeared rather relaxed, with his jacket open and unbuttoned while he neatly tackled his dinner. Armstrong smiled at the sight of a napkin in his lap as they approached. It was the first time he'd seen anyone else out here behave in such a way. When Paul Cooper had said that Kimblee had, "Very nice manner, almost like you, Alex," he hadn't lied.

"Hey Kimblee," Roy raised his hand in neutral greeting to warn of their approach.

"Hello Mustang." Armstrong thought he looked happy to be spoken to. Kimblee would prefer not to be alone either. They were the same. "Who's your muscular friend?" He turned his eyes to Armstrong, "I don't believe we're actually met, but I'm certain I've seen you before. You're in fine enough shape to put Basque Gran to shame." He wiped his fingers on the napkin then cordially held out his hand to shake with both his colleagues.

The deep blue tattoo on his palm instantly drew the attention of both sets of questing eyes, but neither Armstrong nor Mustang openly addressed the matter at this point. They had known already that he was an alchemist. Now they received a hint as to the nature of his specialty. "Major Alex Louis Armstrong. The Strong Arm Alchemist. Pleased to meet you."

"Solf J. Kimblee. They call me "Red Lotus." Likewise." His yellow eyes sparkled gleefully. His handshake showed his good breeding- it was the perfect firmness and duration. Armstrong felt reassured. Not everything about Ishval had to be coarse and abrasive just because this was war. Solf J. Kimblee would probably understand.

"How're you doing today, Mustang? Pretty hot out, isn't it?"

"Same as usual, I gather. Every day I've been here's been something like it. How's the food?"

"Well," he shrugged, "Someone put an effort into making this; I can't complain."

"Hmm," Roy grunted. He couldn't say that was what he would've liked to hear, but it had nothing to do with Kimblee. "Anyway, I don't really have much longer to linger here, so I guess I'll be moving on. I hope you two can hit it off." He winked at Armstrong as he turned and left, sincerely hoping that would be the case. Maybe Kimblee wasn't nursing some underlying strangeness after all. Maybe all he needed was a chance to connect with a similar type. Roy thought about Maes. Friends helped.

Alex continued to feel optimistic as Kimblee invited him to sit down. "Why not sit with me if you have the time? As you can see, there's plenty of space, and I'd enjoy the company."

He accepted graciously and settled himself on the bench beside Kimblee. Kimblee was about the same size as Roy, meaning that beside Armstrong his taut, wiry form came off as practically petite. He asked if Armstrong minded if he finished off his meal while they talked (he didn't) and then proceeded to exhibit further good manners as he engaged Armstrong in a light discussion of their family backgrounds. "You come from a very distinguished family, Armstrong. It's kind of exciting to find myself serving alongside you."

"You shouldn't let it intimidate you any. I have inherited a number of magnificent arts from my family, but I won't be using them in competition with you. We'll all be supporting one another on the battlefield."

"Of course, of course! I didn't mean to pile any more pressure on your shoulders than you already have. I'm merely impressed." He dabbed his lips with the napkin.

"I've never heard the name "Kimblee" before, but surely you also hail from some distinguished house." Armstrong was curious as to the origins of this charming man. A man was definitely more than the sum of his roots, but they were still a decent place to begin an investigation of character.

"My family?" he laughed modestly, looking down at his hands, "If you'd heard of them I would've been blown away. We're nothing much at all, Armstrong, even if we are the richest family in Fernburg. It's a tiny town. My family owns a textile mill. If there was anything you would know us for, it would be clothes." Kimblee wore a self-deprecating look as he gazed back up into Armstrong's eyes.

"Don't undersell yourself, Solf J. Kimblee. You're more than genteel enough in my eyes. I would be honored to carry on in your company. I imagine you and I will be great friends." He fought against the urge to solidify their alliance by giving his new comrade a warm hug. Ishval wasn't he place for that, he thought. The voice he heard in his head as he turned to self-discipline was his eldest sister's. He controlled himself (though perhaps a few stray sparkles enlivened the air). "You may call me, "Alex," if you like."

Kimblee cocked his head to the side and the loose strands of hair the flipped toward his face slid casually in the same direction. Were those actual sparkles he was seeing? How amusing. "Very well then, Alex."

Ah, Kimblee was so welcoming and open! Alex lost control, giving into emotion and scooping him up into a crushing bear hug. Kimblee hid his surprise. It was fascinating how easily this big man bared his dainty heart. He wondered how Armstrong would fair on the battlefield. His hold was a little too tight. Kimblee softly patted him on the back. "I prefer just 'Kimblee,'" he said like it was only a suggestion.

After this, their paths were intertwined.

 

Initially, the operated in different areas of the field. Roy Mustang, often filling the gap between them, saw two styles of battle, irreconcilable in character. He answered Kimblee's queries about Armstrong's techniques as easily as he responded to any of the Red Lotus' other questions (which, admittedly, would've been easier if Kimblee hadn't turned around and shown him his shockingly bloodthirsty interior). But when Armstrong asked him about Kimblee, Roy cautiously tempered his remarks. Sooner or later, Armstrong would discover the truth, but Roy, nevertheless, could not bear to be the one who broke it to him. Back at camp, Kimblee showed his fangs in ruthless philosophical arguments and eerie leering at mainly female colleagues. But around his "friend" Alex, he always managed to keep up his facade of kind speech and good manners.

"You're looking rather shaken lately, Alex." Kimblee reached out and laid a comforting hand on his arm.

Armstrong trembled. He was growing unused to a friendly touch. He frowned. How terrible to be losing his trust in his fellow man. He was ashamed by his reaction. "It's difficult, Kimblee. War isn't how I imagine it would be." A smudge of dried blood on Kimblee's arm brought a drop of sweat running down his forehead.

"War's not quite how I imagined it either." Armstrong was too caught up in his own private torment to notice Kimblee's mile. War was not worse than he had expected- it was better. He fumbled around, reaching past his watch to pull out his handkerchief. "Here, use this."

Armstrong accepted the slightly stained handkerchief and wiped his heated brow. He held the neat piece of fabric in his shaking hand, noting the smell of gunpowder clinging to the monogrammed bit of white cloth. "Thank you. I gave mine away to a wounded colleague earlier this week."

"Keep it then," Kimblee shrugged, "I have another back with my gear."

Armstrong squeezed the handkerchief like it was a lifeline. Even in the midst of this carnage he would do the same as the Kimblee. He would not be an animal, but a man.

"If you have free time, Kimblee, will you spend it with me?" His thick blond eyebrows rose, turning his soulful gaze from sad to hopeful. A break from all this killing and dying would do him wonders. Yes, that would lift his spirits. The company of another gentleman would bring him back to himself. He put the tiny gift away into a jacket pocket.

"Of course, Alex. I'm free now. I would be happy to."

Over their dark and gritty coffee, Kimblee soothed Armstrong's fraying spirit with careful, lively talk about the yearly changes on his family's orange orchard and questions about boxing, which he had always found engaging, but never tried for himself until his military training. He coaxed information out of Armstrong about his sisters and his manorial home and his family's talent for portraiture.

Armstrong finally felt effectively distracted from the maelstrom of troubles surrounding him. He found himself watching Kimblee while he spoke, no longer focusing solely on the words, but observing the animated way he gesticulated with both hands and the breadth of his sly, ear to ear smiles and the lively look in his hooded eyes. Kimblee was a little older than him and, perhaps, a little more knowing.

Armstrong's lower lip trembled as he struggled with the heartfelt words rising to his tongue. It might be foolish to be drawn so strongly to Kimblee. They hadn't known one another for very long. He didn't know if Kimblee's feelings were anything like his, but... In the midst of such cruelty, his gentle heart melted at the brush of kindness. To those who did not know him well, the blush that rose to Armstrong's cheeks was quite incongruous to his foreboding appearance.

The desert air was dry. Kimblee licked his lips. Armstrong stared at his tongue, agile and pink. He imagined Kimblee's tongue would be as satisfyingly adept in his mouth as it was with well-mannered and timely words.

Finally, Kimblee showed a sign that he was aware of Armstrong's weighted gaze. His idle words about his time spent living in South City trailed off and he looked up, then, unblinking, took and held Alex's longing gaze. Caught up in the moment, Armstrong blurted out the longings of his vulnerable soul. "I like you, Kimblee." It was more difficult for him to express the lustful element of his desires than the pure, emotional side. "I want to be..." He nervously tripped over his tongue, attempting to gauge Kimblee's reaction to his words. "In-intimate with you. If..."

"Yes," Kimblee cut short his stuttering, "Yes, Alex. Don't strain yourself. That would be fine."

Relief and amazement competed inside him as potential reactions to this answer. Kimblee picked up his jacket (he was constantly going around with it off) and tossed back his arm, holding it over his shoulder. "I suppose it's getting dark enough to give us some cover. Come back with me. ...Will my tent be all right?"

"Quite fine," Armstrong agreed meekly, led away by some invisible chain connecting him to the person he felt most comfortable with out of all his colleagues on the Ishvalan front. In the still night air, the tumbled through the flaps of Kimblee's tend, grappling together in a gasping, searching kiss. Armstrong was swept away by the tightly coiled strength and ferocity that bubbled out of his eager companion. To think that he had been afraid of receiving a harsh rejection or even a jaundiced withdrawal- Kimblee was a gentleman. Even a "no" would have come peacefully and acceptably.

But, thankfully, there had been no such emotional disaster. Kimblee lay on top of him, snaking his tongue between Armstrong's parched lips. Armstrong's hands crept up to clutch at Kimblee's silky hair and push up his close-fitting shirt to caress his distinct, though not overly developed, muscles, and pink, responsive nipples. In the fading light, Armstrong could still see how the sun had tanned Kimblee, even through the lightweight fabric of his shirt. The sun was only yet another of Armstrong's enemies here, burning rather than bronzing his pale skin.

Alex, Kimblee thought, was a hairless, sculpted mountain of a man. He had never touched anyone built this way before. Although he was enjoying himself, he was far from swept away by a sea of passion. By playing up a particularly appealing aspect of his character he had maneuvered himself into an interesting situation. He had not predicted this from the beginning. Who had thought the Strong Arm Alchemist would fall, if not _for_ him, at least _to_ him?

Their lips parted and a puff of heated breath warmed Kimblee's flushed face. That was one of the main setbacks of the desert as he saw it- too dirty (always messing up his clothes), and too hot for sex. Where skin met skin he could feel that Armstrong too was vaguely most with sweat. In any case, if they went that far, it could be used as the basis of some lubrication.

Armstrong's attentions hastened the rush of blood south, but Kimblee pushed away, focused on remaining lucid and in control. In this weather, better to avoid the moisture-stealing tangle of swaying bodies for other intimate pursuits. Better to continue to control the situation the way he did best- with his mouth. A gentleman would see to his lover's pleasure first, would he not? Kimblee was already curious to see how the dimensions of Armstrong's penis would compare with the rest of his above-average form.

He fumbled with the buckle of Armstrong's belt, playing down the deliberateness of his action. "Allow me to give you a little relief from your pains." He wondered how much sexual experience the awkward young soldier even had. Wouldn't it be interesting to be the one to initiate him?

Armstrong sat on the cot, legs spread. Kimblee knelt on the ground. "L-let me," Armstrong assisted his garments, revealing curly, blond pubic hair and an organ that promised to reach an impressive girth when fully erect. It was already springing into life. Kimblee licked its head. It was damp and slightly salty on his tongue.

An "oh," escaped Armstrong's lips- half gasp and half moan.  
Had Alex ever had hair like this on his head? Kimblee wondered, brushing his hand against the curls and moving on trace a finger along the underside of his balls. Whatever activity he was involved in, Kimblee placed great importance on doing it right. "I'll be doing my utmost, Alex, but certainly keep the lines of communication open."

"Y-yes," Armstrong shuddered as Kimblee's dry lips widened and he took the head of his penis into his mouth. Kimblee never had much trouble with his gag reflex. He had no worries about his ability to coax the majority of it into his mouth. He wound his fingers around the root of the shaft and pulled the hardening penis in further.

Armstrong's hand descended lightly onto his shoulder, but gave it a tight squeeze as Kimblee squeezed and stroked him, moaning with pleasure.

When Kimblee looked up and met Armstrong's gaze, it was with a smile in his eyes. He was teasing him with his tongue even as he kept his hands at work, and, like every job well done, he felt a sort of enjoyment from it. Idly he thought of all the wonderful sights and sensations Ishval had provided him with. Alex here, breathing hard, tensing, nearly ready to come, was a killer too. How did his alchemy look as it took lives? He praised the vivid nature of his imagination as he conjured up a vision of Alex, reluctant and blood-spattered in the midst of battle.

"K-Kimblee, I-" Armstrong thought perhaps he should pull away.

His lips obviously occupied, Kimblee calmly held up one palm, indicating that Armstrong stop and stay as he was. Armstrong leaned over slightly, hands on both of Kimblee's shoulders now, groaning as he came.

Nothing tasted quite like ejaculate, Kimblee mused neutrally, allowing Armstrong, finished, to slip from his lips. He swallowed the fluid nonchalantly.

Feeling somewhat exhausted with the effort (it seemed like it had been such a long time from the last time until now...), Armstrong took his hands off his lover and leaned back on the cot, which shook slightly at the shifting weight. He was much heavier than the person for which the cot had been intended. "Kimblee," he murmured, softly, not sure what to say next. Kimblee was so kind to him. He should reciprocate his feelings and actions in some fashion.

"Feeling better, Alex?" Kimblee rose and stretched. He looked down on Armstrong and considered what might come next.

 

******

Three days passed. Between the two alchemists, Armstrong found only bliss. However, the carnage was piling up. Kimblee's touch was a respite. The time between was worse by the hour. The contrast only served to heighten the horror. Armstrong grimaced. His stomach churned even before he set foot outside of camp now.

To comfort himself, he pulled out the handkerchief Kimblee had given him and pressed it to his face. It was soft, but he was disappointed at its smell. He wanted to breathe in the scent of something kind and home-like, not even more of the stench of war. He wondered if, back home, Kimblee wore cologne. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that scent, and better days.

 

"Major, there's been a slight change in plans," Lieutenant Hart informed her commanding officer, cautiously passing on the memo. Major Kimblee was not very pleasant to be around when he did not like what he was being asked to do (mainly when it sounded as if it would rob him of an opportunity to wreck havoc). Hart was constantly aware that she had received this position after the first subordinate Kimblee had been given had shielded the alchemist, somewhat less than willingly, from an attack. However, today Kimblee received his marching orders with a smile. He would be operating in the same district as dear Alex. There would still be civilians there. Complete chaos. Just how he liked it.

He wouldn't say anything to Alex about it before hand. If -when- they ran into each other, it would be a nice surprise. "Round everyone up, Lieutenant. We're moving out."


End file.
